


Want

by kagme



Series: Gate Number 40 [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29884530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagme/pseuds/kagme
Summary: There is too much Brett Yang wants from Eddy Chen - it carries him through the years, carries him through the nights.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Gate Number 40 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197242
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	Want

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the interlude of [Gate Number 40](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936326/chapters/70998435), it's taking place somewhere between chapter 10 and chapter 13. You can read this without having read the first part because there's not much to understand apart from the fact that Brett is in love with Eddy who - for reasons - couldn't return his love and is now away. Still, it would make much more sense and have its intended impact if it was read in accompaniment with the first installment xD
> 
> A lot of things are purposefully left hazy, I spread some clues to hint as to when in the series it's happening.

# Want

  
  


“So you _haven’t_ snogged him?” 

“No, Phoebe, I haven’t.” 

Brett melted further in the chair of the cafe, his previous three attempts at diverting the attention away from his non-existent relationship with Eddy enough of a failure that he had to bear with the incessant teasing and incredulity of his friends.

“Wait- how is that… Not even once? Not when he was interning with the LSO? Not even when you went back to Australia?”

“No. Not even once,” with a thump, his forehead met the table, “maybe you could stop rubbing salt into the wound now?”

How he had fantasized about it though, how many near kisses he had finished in his mind, in his dreams.

“I know, I know,” he heard Ray pat her on the arm. “I kept telling him to just go for it, but he never listened to me.”

“I can’t, you know why,” his head stayed safely against the cool wood of the table, refusing to meet his friends’ gaze. “For once, there’s no _just do it_.”

“That’s not very Brett Yang of you,” Phoebe teased him, nudging his leg with her foot. “What kept you from swooping him off his feet and snogging him to death?”

With a long-suffering sigh, he turned his face until his cheek was pressed against the wood, eyes fixed on the empty coffee cup a few centimeters away from his nose - maybe he should ask for a refill. 

“Because, he said _no._ ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, can’t really go against that, can I?”

As Ray gave his shoulder a squeeze, Phoebe shook her head with a blink.

“And I was so sure… Eddy’s constantly eye-fucking you, you know. The energy between you two looks like either you’ve been dating the whole time and lying to everyone about it, or like you’re constantly on the verge of snogging each other.”

“Believe me, I know.”

His still empty coffee cup taunted him - was it too early to order an Irish coffee? Or even just Whisky. 

*

Brett’s first impression of Eddy was that he was hilarious - all clumsy limbs, tardiness, and awkwardness, blushing from the back of his neck to the tip of his ears - and completely helpless.

But then he remembered how nervous he had been for his first day, so he had decided to be a nice senior and take care of this taller-than-him puppy for the first few days - maybe with some luck he would make a new friend in the process.

By the time he learned that Eddy had a girlfriend, the first urges to kiss him had already started to nudge the back of his mind. He had held back a sigh - the most attractive men were always taken - and decided to move on. It didn’t matter, he thought, one less opportunity to have a good night, one more opportunity to have a good friend. And, who knew, maybe Eddy and his girlfriend weren’t that serious, maybe it was a fling that would break up with distance, maybe Brett would get to sneak a kiss before the end of Eddy’s stay in London - anyway, it didn’t matter.

Memories of when this started to change were blurry. Maybe the admiration born in the intelligence of Eddy’s discourse, or the fixation on the dimple that creased his cheek when he had just told a very bad pun, or, more probably, the way he closed his eyes when he listened to music, when he played, entire being devoted to music, vibrating with each sound, chest open and vulnerable.

It just went downhill from then on.

His stupid teeth and his stupid laugh and his stupid hands and the way his eyes sparkled when he got excited, how loud and unbothered he was once he started getting comfortable around Brett, the shyness that crept back when bursts of self-consciousness hit him traitorously. This thing he did with his fingers when he dissected music with his mind, biting the nail with unwavering focus, lost somewhere in his head and Brett desperately wanted to jump in there and witness every idea that sprouted.

In winter, he had been a cute and funny guy, by spring a crush, and when summer had come, Brett was in love.

Everything he ever wanted and didn’t know he wanted was encapsulated in one-hundred-and-seventy-eight centimeters of a man. They fitted too well together, filling each other’s lacking and pushing forward, a whole new dimension of music had opened with Eddy, with TwoSet, with this new crazy idea that would never have seen the light of day without him.

And everything mattered now. Eddy’s girlfriend mattered and the urge to kiss him mattered - the fact that he couldn’t get him mattered.

It mattered in a way he refused to let himself be broken by. This was going to be a good thing, he had decided, he wouldn’t allow this love to be about pain and heartache - only good things associated with Eddy.

His love was dipped in determination, strengthened by will and ironed by patience, the end of the world would be where it stopped - and maybe beyond if he was feeling spiritual. There was no giving up.

It wasn’t helping - the surges of heat when Eddy let his eyes speak of desire, the ones of hope when he didn’t recoil as Brett’s hand flitted against his. Possibilities exploding behind Brett’s eyelids as Eddy was unable to say he didn’t like him, so close, he could almost feel it under his fingertips - what they could be together. 

They would keep on growing together, they had time, and if Eddy did end up marrying someone else, well… It would have been worth it. Not getting to be with him in the end wouldn't take away any of the quality of their time together. And if- if his determination paid off, eventually, then Brett would have years of fantasies to catch up to.

Eddy’s touches had changed since Brett had confessed, probably out of consideration for him, keeping more distance, stopped wrapping himself all over him. But he still forgot himself sometimes, let his hand linger on his shoulder or arm, nudged the small of his back with his palm, ruffled his hair, and Brett could feel the imprint of his hand burning his skin for hours after each touch. 

He was glad he had somehow managed to get Eddy to lie on his bed at some point - taking a nap a summer afternoon, the fan on the ceiling wiring above his body, and then later, when they didn’t speak about it - and that he had the memory of his body heat plastered against his - keeping him safe in wintry winds as he fought exhaustion and illness, details lost in fuzz, but the feeling of comfort still sharp - the images were now being repurposed infinitely, his hair on his pillows, body laid on his sheets, low voice fighting exhaustion, combined with heated fantasies that carried him late into the night. Imagining his smell wrapped around him, his hands, _fucking big hands_ , grabbing at him, voice climbing in pitch as Brett would wreak him, and-

He wanted to bite at the white of his thighs, sink his teeth in the flesh, leave the imprints of his fingers spreading the legs open, kneel there, in between, and watch the curve of his neck as it strained under the pleasure Brett would inflict with his mouth-

Wanted to see the muscle of Eddy’s forearms tense as they wrapped around his waist, tan skin against the white of his own stomach, feel the hard press of his body against his back, the hard press of _him_ against his arse-

Wanted him above and below him, behind and in front, whispering dirty nothings in his ear, voice rough and breathy or contorting from pleasure, unable to moan anything but Brett’s name-

Wanted Eddy’s hands pressing on his throat, Eddy’s hair pulled by his own fingers, Eddy’s tongue against his nipple, Eddy’s lips around his cock-

Pretty faced and glistening eyes, sharp cheekbones and flushed cheeks and full lips and-

_Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy-_

He muffled his moan in the palm of his hand, tremors shaking his body, coming back down from his high to watch with disgust the white marks of his unrequited adoration staining his chest.

_Fuck._

“Fuck,” his throat was tight around his voice.

His clean hand rubbed against his face.

It came back wet and salty.

“Fuck.”

Because he also wanted his slow kisses against his lips to ease him through the cooldown, wanted his stupid puns muffled against his skin, his gentle hands taking care of them, asking over and over if he was okay, if it was good, how he felt, because, surely, that was the kind of lover Eddy was. 

But his bed was empty, and he had nobody but himself to clean up. 

*

“Hey!” he didn’t have to try very hard to put cheer in his voice when Eddy’s face popped on his computer. “Wow, you look tired as fuck.”

His hair was sticking in every direction, sweater engulfing him, looking like an overgrown golden retriever; comfy and cute and charming and-

_“Thanks, nice to see you too,”_ he got a smile and an eye roll, Eddy’s voice jumping with the bad wifi - guilt slashed at the warmth pooling in Brett’s guts when he remembered just what he had been doing last night. _“It’s, like, four in the morning in Brisbane.”_

“Shouldn’t you sleep?”

_“Nah, I’m fine, I’ve always been nocturnal anyway, you know that.”_

“At least with your weird sleeping schedule we can still talk despite the time difference.”

_“As long as I don’t have morning rehearsal, the bane of my existence,”_ Eddy groaned, leaning back in his bed, closing his eyes before blinking at his screen again. _“Did you get a haircut?”_

“Ah, yeah, yesterday. Didn’t think you would notice.”

_“Looks good on you,”_ a pause, eyes sharpening in slits as he seemed to analyze every pixel of Brett available on his camera. _“How are you?”_

“I’m fine,” he shook his head, warmth spreading at the concern on his friend’s face.

_“I’m never gonna believe that sentence again.”_

The computer was on his lap, probably, and it made something in Brett’s chest buzz at the idea that even half-dead, in the middle of the night, Eddy had still answered his call - he should have been used to it, Eddy had never made it a secret that he cared about him, but the reminder never failed to get to him.

It was so strange, that place he had in Eddy’s life, he could feel the weight of his presence, how Eddy’s habits curved around him, the speech patterns he had borrowed from him, the synchronization they had even from the other side of the world. 

Laughter and bad jokes, slower discussions, and explosions of energy, jumping around and filming, they had done everything, each on their side of the computer.

But not what he missed most - playing music together.

His fingers itched, plucking the strings of his violin, wishing so very much technology would allow them this - real-time, actual playing together, not this out of time, horrible sound quality thing they had tried before. 

His chest expanded, nervousness filling his lungs as he thought about it again, this reckless, stupid, incredible decision he had made.

As he watched him, nerding out about that new violin he was thinking of buying, nose red from rubbing at it, the glow of his computer making his eyes twinkle, the ache filling, the desire to just share music again, he knew this was the best decision he ever made.

“Hey, Eddy,” he cut him in the middle of his rant, his next breath free and larger than him, knee jumping up and down, looking at the ticket on his phone then at his friend’s wondering eyes. “I quit my job today.”

“ _You fucking didn’t. Brett, what the fuck, I told you you should- why did you even-_ ”

  
 _Because, Eddy,_ he bit his tongue. _You kissed me._

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
